


Love

by sendmeademon



Series: 30 prompts [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 02:01:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16007966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sendmeademon/pseuds/sendmeademon
Summary: 30 prompts for this awesome couple. In this one, Historia just feels sad, and people doesn't know what she knows.





	Love

Ice cream straight out of the tub seems like the best solution for a blue day. Eating a full pint of French vanilla should leave anyone feeling fancy and pretty satisfied. Digging around with the spoon, seeing the ice cream slowly melting, the tiny spots of vanilla swirling around inside the tub, all of that could be therapeutic, even.

“I shouldn't be feeling this awful,” Christa sighs, her voice filled with deep sorrow.

It was just one of those days, you know? You wake up to an empty bed because  _ she  _ works really early on Wednesday, and that's the first sign, the tell-tale of a dreadful day. 

It's way too early, anyway, so you get up with your eyes closed, feeling around. In a futile attempt of getting a little more sleep while walking, you extend your arms, thinking that, perhaps, having lived in the same apartment for the last five years, you'd have a clear idea of every nook and cranny…

And that's when you inevitably smash your toe against the door frame. Your eyes, your brain, your whole body lights up like a Christmas tree and you can't help the cussing that follows. Of course, you aren't even allowed to get the frustration out fully, because your kitten is right there, and you don't want to set a bad example for her. Lady must remain pure and candid.

Huffing and puffing, eyes open wide reluctantly, you open your fridge. Something quick and easy, since you should be working already. The fridge stares right back at you.

“A banana and yoghurt, I guess,” even though the banana is all mushy and the yoghurt is almost expired, and not even the flavour she really likes.  _ She  _ forgot to get groceries, again. 

At this point, you realize. There's no turning back. It'll be a crappy day. You get into your feel-good clothes and work and work and work, tapping the day away. You don't even bother to cook lunch, since you'll be alone until who knows when, because ‘it gets busy sometimes’. It's just your texts, your dictionaries and yourself.

And that's okay. These kind of days are scarce, but they are definitely real. You are used to them. The clock ticks half past seven. Your dinner will be a pint of French vanilla ice cream, and you'll have it while working.

“I should be feeling this awful, but I do,” she accepts. “If only she were here…”

Christa stares at her computer with dead eyes and gets at spoonful into her mouth. She has read the same sentence three times, but it's not really her fault. The extract is a detailed description of Luke’s, the romantic interest of the protagonist, eyes. They are said to be ‘dark and deep, like an endless pit of the ocean, where predators hide and stalk their prey’.

But she can only think about  _ her  _ eyes. 

And her hair, dark and naturally wavy, which needs to be straightened by Christa every so often; her freckles, all over her body and even in her tummy, like the prettier version of a happy trail; her mouth, a soft, easygoing thin-lipped line when they are together; her nose, straight and kind of big for her face, but somehow perfectly in balance with everything else; her…

Sighing for what seems like the millionth time, she smiles for the first time in what feels ages. It cannot be helped: it's the Ymir effect. 

Suddenly, Christa feels energized. Ymir wouldn't like a sad little bean like her! Ymir always urges her to do her very best, to push through all adversity, to crash her own pity party. It didn't seem like it on the outside, but she was pretty good when it came to cheering her up.

“I'm going to call it a day! And fix myself some salad! Maybe even shower!”

“You haven’t showered in all day? You must smell bad, big time,” she hears, the voice coming from very close behind her.

Turning around on her chair at lightspeed, she hits Ymir’s legs. Yelling, Ymir tries to regain balance. She falls to one knee, but since she keeps all the bags she’s carrying away from the floor, it could be considered a success. Christa pulls her legs up and put her arms around it, smirking.

“That’s karma for you,” Christa preens, watching Ymir wrestle her way up on her feet. She doesn’t know why, but she feels nervous, butterfly-full. 

“That’s not very nice of you, young lady,” Ymir retorts, a smirk of her own dancing across her lips. “Now the yoghurt will be all blended and it’s your fault.”

Ymir’s hair is all frizzy. It might be because of the humidity; it’s pouring outside, as it has been all day. Her face looks just about the same as usual: rough and tired and a little bit mean. But those eyes…  _ Oh _ , look at those eyes _.  _ Christa wouldn’t mind falling into those deep pits and being attacked by the utter predator that Ymir is. She’d give herself up willingly for Ymir to do whatever she wants to her. Some might call her reckless, too trusting, but they don’t know Ymir. 

Christa does, however. She knows that, deep down, all this lanky, snappy girl wants is to be loved. And Christa does so, truly, very much.

“You aren’t very nice either,” she says, finally, and gets up to help her place the groceries. 

Staring her down, Ymir cracks another sarcastic smile. 

“It’s part of my charm.”

When her hands meet fleetingly, Christa feels giddy and giggly, like a teenager with a crush. She feels like flying, like soaring the sky and munching on fluffy clouds. Like she could grab all the stars in the universe and bring them for her, no matter how big, how hot they might be. But she also grounded, knowing that what they have is real and honest and true. Her heart is filled to the very brim. It’s the Ymir effect. 

“What are you staring at, weirdo?”

And it’s true that she has been staring, all starry-eyed and blushy and excited for absolutely no reason other than her feelings, her overwhelming love towards this meanie. Christa doesn’t try to brush it off, she simply whispers, “I love you so much,” earning a fond roll of Ymir’s eyes.

“Not showering has affected your brain,” she says, as ironic as ever, while putting her hands on Christa’s waist, pulling her closer. 

Ymir sniffs around her like a dog, not a very pretty sight, and scrunches her nose. Then, suddenly, she bends over and gets a hold of Christa’s legs, putting her over her right shoulder with ease. In turn, Christa puts on a show, yelling and whining and kicking into the air. 

“Put me down right now or I swear I will...!”

“I’m just showing you the way to the bathroom, since you seem to have forgotten it,” she deadpans.

Some might find Ymir rude, because she definitely was sometimes, and bossy, and many other bad things. But Christa knows that tight hold on her legs is not to prevent her from escaping, it’s just so she doesn’t fall over and hurts herself. 

Ymir cares. Christa loves that, as she loves Ymir. And that’s because Christa knows. 

Ice cream is not the best solution for a blue day; Ymir’s love is.

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty much garbage. I don't like it that much, but I haven't written in more than two years, so there's that. I have to get the hang of it again.


End file.
